


RyuSha

by gemsofformenos



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: A Life In One-Shots, Angst, Fluff and Background, Happy moments - Freeform, OC centric, losses, more to add within time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 07:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19102948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemsofformenos/pseuds/gemsofformenos
Summary: RyuSha is a remarkable Sand Bender. He works as a street artist in Republic City. This is planned as a collection of One-Shots about his character and his way to Republic City, placed in the Korra universe. Some characters of LoK will appear in some One-Shots.





	RyuSha

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is an older project of mine about an OC. Former placed in a post-Korra universe, I have started to replace him within the Korra universe. Luckily I haven't written much for him, so far, but I'm planning to change this fact, maybe he'll get a part in a multi chapter story within the LoK universe, which I really plan to write one day. Until now, I have only him as an OC and this is planned as a collection of One-Shots around him, which tells the story about his life and who he is. I'll switch between time and events in the One-Shots, so please don't expect a straight story telling in this collection here.
> 
> Nevertheless, I hope someone will like it.

* * *

 

**Republic City - RuySha (age 25 - his presence)**

* * *

 

The alarm clock ringed five and the annoying sound filled the small room. A left hand appeared under the bedsheets, searching with clumsy claps for the source of this noise, pushing empty bottles of booze aside.

Clap, Clap, Clap

The hand kept missing its target.

Clap, Clap, Crack

The hand pushed away some bottles, which got broken into pieces.

Clap, Cut, Clap

The hand got cut on the sharp pieces of the broken glass. It started bleeding, instantly, painting the mess on the nightstand red.

Clap, Clap, Click

The noise ended. The hand hung down beside the bed, bleeding on the floor.

After some moments, RyuSha sat up, rubbing his face and forehead with his fingers in order to drive away the rest of tiredness, messing himself up with his bleeding hand. Red, tired eyes tried to get focused on the room. It was a small one room apartment in the outskirts of Republic City and it was a mess.

Bottles, rest of food, dirty dishes, old clothes.

The room wasn't cleaned up for weeks. Ryu stood up, slowly and shambled to the window. He pulled the curtains aside and the morning sun shined into the room. He had to pinch eyes for some time until they adapted to the light.

He could have a better apartment, but this one was close to the shores of the ocean. He loved the ocean and the sand.

Water and Sand.

This meant home for him. He opened up the window. With fluid movements, he started to bend the sand from the shore. He rose the sand up, until it had almost his own size, then he pulled it trough the window inside of his apartment. A moving and shifting pillar of sand, which constantly fell and rose up again, fluid, almost alive. His hands started to shape linings in the air around the pillar of sand. The grains begain to shiver, and the pillar changed its form. His moves became more passionate. Fluid wide circles of his arms and quick fingers gave the sand a new shape.

A young woman of sand, carrying a baby.

A warm smile approached to Ryu’s face. The woman lifted her head smiling at him. She cradled the little baby, who was grabbing the air with tiny little sand fingers. Ryu gently touched the cheek of the woman.

"Naria..."

She watched him deep in his eyes and smiled again.

And then the pillar collapsed. Sand ran trough his fingers, while he was stock in motion. He recognized the pain in his hand, looking at it with empty eyes. A piece of broken glass stared back at him. He pulled it out and threw it out of the window.

He stayed focused on his hand.

The blood dipped in the sand in his room. Some of it was running over a necklace, that he had bound around his left wrist as a bracelet. The gem on it had carvings, symbols of the Northern Water Tribe and of the Sand Nomads. His fresh red blood had filled them.

He kept standing in the room.

No emotion, beside a mask of pain and deep grief, was in his face.

And no tears.

After a year, there were none left to cry and none of them, he had cried during this year, had washed away his pain.


End file.
